


Paying it forward

by whumpertrooper



Category: The Doctor Blake Mysteries
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, weekly whump challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:41:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25963015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whumpertrooper/pseuds/whumpertrooper
Summary: Charlie thought saving someone's life would be a bit less painful. He was wrong.
Comments: 10
Kudos: 13





	Paying it forward

**Author's Note:**

> Another short one shot, written for the weekly whump challenge. Whump words were car+crash. Not part of the A to Z challenge (that one is still being worked on though:)

Third time was the charm it seemed. Or not, Charlie thought as his body was flung over the front of the car. He somehow noted a smudge on the front window, right next to the wide eyed look on the driver's face. Then he hit said window, bounced off of it, and like a cartoon character somehow flew over the top of the car without really touching it again.

Charlie thought that wasn't so bad. He could hardly feel a thing, except for the wind on his face as he was-

Fuck.

He was still in the air.

Sailing...

Charlie didn't know how it was possible. Perhaps he was already dead and just didn't realize it. Perhaps his brain was splashed on the window of the still driving car and thus time stopped existing...

But no.

He blinked and whatever reprieve he had has vanished, as the ground came rushing at him with the speed of light.

* * *

_Grass._

A bit dried up, but long enough to tickle him on the nose.

Charlie looked at the blades lazily. They were all he could see. Some were splattered with red, but most of the blades were the colour of hay, a dying grass, dried up after a long summer.

Charlie didn't like summer. It was too hot, especially if he was in his uniform. The dark material just seemed to draw in the sun, making even a simple task of crossing a street a chore.

_Crossing a street..._

Charlie's brow furrowed.

Something about that thought made him feel sick to his stomach.

He could feel the heat of the sun beating down on him right now... he was sweaty. Too sweaty... he felt like his whole body was bathed in sweat. It was running down his face too, adding to the discomfort of the grass blades tickling his nose.

Charlie wrinkled his nose then almost gagged. The stench.

He smelled copper. He _tasted_ copper.

Charlie's tongue darted around his mouth, trying to find the source. Did he bite his tongue? Or his cheek? There was a cut somewhere, though no chipped teeth.

Good. Charlie hated the dentist as well.

He licked at his lips. They felt parched, but they were moist too. It wasn't sweat.

Charlie felt something inside his chest constrict painfully.

Grass. Why was there grass? Was he lying in the garden? Did he fall asleep there? But that didn't make sense. Last thing he remembered was sitting behind his desk at work, listening to Lawson grumble about virtually anything but the heat that was pissing him off.

Heat. He kept coming back to the heat and the sun that was now shining down on him sharply. It must've been past noon. He should've still been at work, not lying around doing... what?

Charlie was trying to put his thoughts together, but it seemed impossible. He kept circling back to the feeling of warmth and wetness on his face. The feeling that his head was about to explode. It was familiar. He had suffered a sunstroke as a kid and it felt... kind of the same. Dizzy... the world had that unstable quality to it. The grass blades waving in and out of focus. A woman's white shoe heading his way.

White shoe?

It was a sandal. And there were two of them. Or three. Charlie wasn't sure. Did someone wear three shoes? Did he miscount?

Shouldn't there be a person attached to the shoes?

There was.

An older looking lady, with greying hair and worried eyes. Charlie's head moved as if on its own accord, turning just a bit so he could see her. She was kneeling down on the grass and Charlie wanted to warn her about the red colouring it, so she wouldn't mess up her skirt.

But the words somehow couldn't form on his lips. He opened them, but even as he tried to speak he realized something was wrong.

He didn't have enough air and an attempt to take in some resulted in a stab of pain. Charlie knew that pain well.

It was so surprising and sharp that Charlie let out a moan.

Broken ribs.

Somehow, he managed to break his ribs... again.

He shut his eyes, face scrunching up in grimace. He felt another moan leave his lips, but he barely heard it through the rushing in his ears.

Only now did he realize that there was more wrong with the world than he first thought. Sound... it was missing.

Well, maybe not missing, Charlie thought, some of the panic lessening as he caught a woman's voice. He couldn't make out the words still, but he heard the tone, the higher pitch at the end as if she was calling out. Then a hand touched his shoulder and Charlie screamed.

It was as if someone had smashed his shoulder with a heavy hammer. Suddenly all Charlie could focus on was the pain and he felt like weeping, wishing the numbness would return. The hand had retreated as if burned but it was too late. Charlie's body had woken up and one by one his nerve endings were informing his brain of all the damage.

_Everything_ freaking _hurt_.

But the worst was the fact all the sensation came rushing at him at once, hitting him like a brick. Charlie's eyes squeezed shut as he tried to curl up on himself, right arm pressed tight against his chest, face smudged against the grass and dirt. He didn't even care that his nose was buried in dry dirt and that breathing was becoming impossible. His chest was already tight, throat swallowing convulsively as the pain from his shoulder sparked a nausea.

His hearing had returned too and he could tell someone was wailing, but it wasn't him. No. This was the voice of a child and Charlie wanted to look up, wanted to make sure the child wasn't hurt, but he couldn't. With every breath, the least bit of movement, the pain stabbed him anew and he himself made a deep, keening sound.

There were voices around, Charlie was aware of that. The lady in white shoes was still kneeling next to him, but she didn't dare to touch him. She was speaking, though Charlie wasn't sure who the words were aimed at. It all sounded garbled, panicky.

Charlie swallowed, pushing his forehead harder into the ground, wishing to push away the pain. He felt as if the world had just made a twirl and gravity decided to play a trick on him. He didn't know what was up and down any more.

The hand had returned, though this time it lay on his back, barely touching. Grounding.

"It's alright, don't move. Just stay still," the woman's voice finally permeated through the fog of pain and Charlie wanted to chuckle at the irony.

How could he stay still when the world just become one huge rollercoaster?

The chuckle came out as a choked off moan and he added one more, feeling pathetic.

"Shh... it's alright. You'll be alright," the woman continued, her hand making small circles on his back.

Charlie wanted to tell her to stop. He needed stillness, he needed to find his center. Hell, he just wanted everything to stop for a moment... the spinning, the strange pressure in his ears and head, the pain. Most of all, he wanted to stop the pain.

He couldn't say that though. Every time he tried, a moan escaped his mouth. Well, if he couldn't say that, he would have to show. Forcing down a yelp, Charlie made a conscious effort to pull away from the touch.

The hand stilled, though it stayed in place. He barely managed to move an inch. He wasn't sure the resolving pain was worth it either.

What on earth was wrong with him? What the hell was wrong with the world around? He heard more people neraby. The child had stopped wailing, all he heard now was sniffling and cooing words of strangers. Good. The sound was making his headache all that worse... like listening to a chainsaw during a migraine.

But this wasn't a migraine. While he sometimes wished for death during a bad attack, he didn't feel like chewing off his arm at the shoulder would be a vast improvement. He did now though. Maybe turning on his back would help? Or the protest of nerve endings might finally send him into oblivion. Charlie wasn't picky and decided to try.

"Keep him still!" Someone shouted not that far away and Charlie paused mid-motion.

Well, it wasn't really the voice, more the fact his body screamed at him and refused compliance as soon as he attempted to roll over. The hand on his back become surprisingly strong as well, keeping him in place.

"I'm trying," the woman said unhappily. "I don't want to hurt him anymore," she added fearfully. "There's lots of blood..."

"Head wounds bleed a lot," the voice said almost reassuringly and Charlie forced his eyes open. He knew that voice. He trusted that voice.

"Let me see," the man said to the woman and Charlie noted the shuffling around him. He grimaced as the hand vanished from his back. only now did he realize it was providing support and his body started to fall backwards...

"Whoa. I've got you, Charlie."

A much larger and stronger hand replaced that of the woman as they exchanged places. Charlie had blinked, trying to clear his vision to see who came to his rescue. There was something warm running down his face and left eye, sticking the lids together. He wanted to reach up and brush away the stickiness, but he couldn't. His whole body was resting on his left side, trapping his left arm below. And there was no point in trying the right one, he knew.

"Can you... put this behind his back? So he doesn't roll over? And if you can find a blanket or something?" The man spoke and Charlie frowned. Did he really just ask someone to go around fetching blankets? In the middle of summer?

"Of course. I think I have one in my car..." the woman said somehow shakily. "Is this alright?" she asked and Charlie felt something being pushed against his back. A bunched up cloth or something... he didn't know. It was quite soft, but provided enough support that he didn't just roll over. Like a pillow.

"Perfect," the man said and Charlie could hear the reassuring smile in his tone. Such a familiar tone.

Blake.

Charlie's right eye opened wider as he tried to turn his head and look. Was it the Doc? Was he here all along? Charlie shuddered. How could he not have remembered the name right away?

"It's alright Charlie. Blanket's on the way," Blake soothed, most likely thinking Charlie was cold. He wasn't. Or at least he didn't think so, but it was hard to tell. His body was giving him too much input all at once, while his mind was just trying to figure out what the hell was going on and how can he stop it.

If there was anyone who could help with that, it was Blake. How fortunate the man was kneeling next to him.

"Doc?" Charlie spoke, though what came out was more of a whisper. Blake still heard him.

"Yes, I'm here, Charlie." As if to prove that, Blake's other hand softly touched Charlie's right cheek, just below the eye. Blake's head cocked to the side as he peeked into Charlie's eye. Charlie blinked but didn't try to pull away. Despite the strangeness of the gesture, Blake's touch didn't bring pain. Though when his hand moved to softly cradle through Charlie's hair, he frowned, forcing himself to stay still.

"Doc?" he repeated the question, then hissed as the deft fingers found an especially painful spot. Charlie's eyes shut closed.

"I'm sorry. It's alright, I won't touch it again," Blake soothed and true to his words, he left the spot. Charlie looked at him with confusion.

"Hurts," he said and saw Blake grimacing.

"What does, Charlie?"

Charlie wanted to say everything. He wanted to list out all the painful spots, wanted to ask Blake to explain what happened, to make the pain go away. He wanted for the world to stop spinning, for Blake himself to sit still instead of waving around as if he was a leaf caught in a wind. But that would take too many words and Charlie had already forgotten the question.

"Huh?"

"What hurts, Charlie? I need to know what hurts," Blake spoke rather patiently.

"I do," Charlie said with a grunt. He felt affronted when instead of sympathetic words he heard Blake chuckle.

"I'm sure you do," he said with a soft smile and Charlie would have scowled at the blatant disregard of his situation, but then Blake brushed some of the annoying hair off his forehead, wiping away some of the stickiness and Blake's face turned somber. "But I need to know if something hurts more, Charlie."

Charlie gritted his teeth. He really wanted to tell the man, but words were hard to come by. He had to think and right now, his brain seemed to be one big bruise. Thoughts were like scrambled eggs and even as Charlie planned to say _'shoulder, my bloody shoulder is killing me',_ he forgot what was asked of him. His nose itched from the grass, his gaze swam and he had no clue what was going on.

But Blake was here, so perhaps he would know.

"Doc?" Charlie asked, looking up at the frowning man.

"Yes Charlie?"

Well, that wasn't an answer he wanted.

Did he even ask a question?

Charlie's eyes darted around. Where was he? Why was he lying on the ground?

Maybe he should get up. Maybe if he was sitting, the world would right itself.

It was a stupid move, Charlie realized. The moment he tried to push off the ground, his shoulder reminded him quite explicitly that it didn't magically heal itself.

Charlie let out an undignified yelp, even as a pair of hands was trying to hold him down and stop him from curling up into one sobbing ball of pain.

He didn't appreciate it at all.

"Stay still Charlie, try not to move. Help is on the way," Blake kept repeating and Charlie tried to focus on that. The words and the tone, the warmth of a hand on his face, managing to keep the world in place for the moment.

"Here, will this do? I am sorry I couldn't find anything else..." the woman in the white shoes was back, at least Charlie thought it was her. Maybe it was someone else, but he didn't want to look.

"Yes, thank you dear," Blake said and shortly after Charlie felt something soft being bunched up behind his head. He shot a confused look at Blake.

"Is it alright, Charlie? I don't want you to move around until the ambulance arrives."  
Charlie just blinked, trying to comprehend.

"You took a rather bad spill, Charlie," Blake explained patiently. "I don't want you to move in case you injured your spine."

Well, that wasn't exactly soothing.

"Spill?" Charlie repeated, his confusion growing. Did he fall on the street? Something wasn't right about that. Charlie knew he could be clumsy, but to fall in such a way?

"Well... not a spill per say," Blake amended. "The car..." he started, but paused and shook his head, his voice cracking. "Bloody hell Charlie, when I saw the car..." Blake trailed off, which was just as well.

Charlies eyes widened and he felt his breathing quicken.

Car? What was Blake talking about?

Suddenly there was the image of the car, speeding at him as he and Lawson turned the corner... but Charlie knew he wasn't hit then. Though the pain of broken ribs was similar, but his shoulder...

"The Boss?" Was that who was wailing before? No, that was a child. But there hadn't been a child at the garages...

His confusion must've been apparent, because Blake took pity on him.

"The boy is alright, Charlie. You got to him in time."

Boy... what boy?

Charlie was trying to remember, but the sheer effort of thinking made him want to sick up.  
He let out a groan of discomfort, his body feeling restless. He wanted to get up of the hard ground, wanted to look around and see more than just Blake kneeling in front of him, obstructing his view. His legs were jittery and despite Blake's admonishments, he kept moving around, rocking slightly. At least if he was moving, the tilting of the world around him made more sense.

Blake wasn't putting up with that though. Upon another attempt to find a more comfortable - or at least less painful - position, Blake had enough.

"Charlie!" He said, perhaps a bit harsher than necessary.

Charlie wanted to snap back at him, feeling an overwhelming wave of irritation hit him like a train. Or a car.

Was he really hit by one?

He couldn't remember, and that scared him more than having to keep still.

Maybe this was all just a dream, he thought suddenly. It surely felt like a disjointed one, but it would explain why he couldn't remember the car or how he got there.

Yes, that was making perfect sense. For a second, Charlie ignored the fact that in no dream had he felt so utterly wretched before. It must've been his imagination. Or food poisoning. Anything was possible, but Charlie knew if this was a dream, he needed to wake up.

So he closed his eyes and focused only on one thing.

_'Wake up. Wake up!'_ He kept up the mantra, totally ignoring the fact Blake was calling his name, asking him to open his eyes and stay awake.

That's what Charlie was trying to do. Wake up.

He managed to ignore the fingers pressing against his neck. He even tolerated the same fingers running down his spine, although it felt as if they were pressing against one huge bruise.

Charlie just grit his teeth, squeezed his eyes tighter and begged himself to wake up.

What he couldn't ignore anymore however was Blake slowly and meticulously checking his limbs. As if knowing where the true trouble lay and wanting to postpone reaching it as long as possible, the man had started with his legs. Charlie cringed as his right knee was moved slightly. He didn't realize it hurt as well.

Blake muttered something under his breath and moved on.

Charlie was starting to think that perhaps his theory about a dream was wrong. This felt more like a nightmare and he was trapped in it well and good.

His breath hitched as Blake moved up, softly pressing down on his stomach, then sides. Charlie was almost glad he was lying on his side, because Blake had quite a limited reach this way. Of course, his right side was exposed and if his shoulder was anything to go by... it was his right side colliding with the... car.

Charlie had a sudden flashback of a windshield and a startled looking face of an older woman.

Before he could feel some relief or confusion upon the fact he remembered at least something though... Blake's hands moved up.

Probing fingers touched his shoulder and it felt as if someone was jabbing hot needles into his joint.  
Charlie let out a keening sound. Blake paused mid motion, but the pain remained and Charlie buried his face in the ground, ignoring everything. There was only pain and nothing else. He didn't hear Blake's worried voice, or the sound of the approaching ambulance. He didn't even hear the sounds he himself was making. Everything was drowned out by the deep ringing inside his head.

Charlie felt the pressure building, his body feeling trapped inside a twisting pool of darkness. It was just too much. Finally, Charlie let himself succumb to it.

* * *

Things never went still.

Everything kept moving, whether he wanted it or not. Each time Charlie opened his eyes, the things and people around kept swirling dizzyingly. It didn't help that he never ever remembered what was happening or where he was.

He always asked and someone familiar always replied, but Charlie's brain didn't really catch it, the words just a bunch of syllables. So he closed his eyes and fell back into the nightmarish scape of dreams.

Somehow, he kept returning to the garages. He kept stepping out from behind the corner. There was a shout of warning, a mighty push and then usually a hard landing.

Sometimes, the shout didn't come though.

Sometimes he just turned his head, saw the windshield and then stared up at the blue sky, unmoving and hurting. He blinked and there was a man in an uniform towering above him. Charlie frowned, recognizing constable Mick Martin. The man that was run down by the van, while changing a flat tire. A tire on their police car.

A shudder ran through Charlie's body. The man had survived but he never returned to the job.

' _Not so much fun being on the receiving end, hm?'_ Mick asked now and Charlie opened his mouth to reply, but no sound came out. He wanted to reach up, grab Mick's outstretched hand and get up, but when he tried, there was pain.

Charlie closed his eyes with a hiss and when he opened them next time, Mick was gone and he was back at the garages, turning towards Lawson.

' _Boss? What's happening?'_ he asked, more confused than anything. He wasn't really afraid, that would require for his brain to take note of some danger. Right now his brain was covered in thick fog.

' _You better grab that ball, Davis,'_ Lawson said calmly.

' _Ball? What-'_

There was a ball rolling down the street, across the road. It came to a stop right by Charlie's feet. He frowned.

There was no ball at the garages. There were no children there either... yet as he reached for the ball, a young boy hopped towards him, hands outstretched.

' _Can I get my ball back mister?'_ he asked and Charlie nodded, giving it to him.

' _Be careful though. There are cars driving here-'_

He didn't even finish, when there was the sound of an engine roaring angrily. Charlie's head snapped up and he saw a car heading straight at him and the boy. He managed to grab the boy and pull him out of the road as the car passed by at crazy speed.

' _Bloody hell! Boss!'_ he called out, looking at the boy to check if he was alright. The boy seemed fine, clutching at his ball, almost disinterestedly.

Charlie looked at Lawson, confused that there was no reaction from the man. He just stood there, eyebrows raised, as if he hadn't seen a thing.

' _Boss?'_ Charlie asked, feeling rather weirded out. He looked around but there was no sign of the car. He looked down and the boy was gone.

He blinked, then reached up to rub at his eyes.

His right arm felt stiff and didn't really want to move, so he used his left one and took a step backwards, back on the street.

' _Charlie!'_ Lawson called out and Charlie saw the same bloody car speeding his way. But this time it was driven by an old lady with graying hair. wide eyes and her mouth open in a slight O.

Charlie didn't have time to react.

Someone else did though. There was the familiar push, then the painful crash against the wall.

Then Lawson's painful scream.

* * *

"Boss!" Charlie cried out and bolted upright.

Or tried to.

His body gave a protest and he barely managed to lift his head before the pain hit him. With a groan of misery, Charlie fell back into the pillows, eyes shut tight, face scrunched up in a grimace.

A hand lay on his shoulder and it momentarily startled him out of his own misery.

"Easy there," a voice said and Charlie opened his eyes to see if it was real.

"Boss?" he croaked, then grimaced again. His mouth felt as if something died inside... repeatedly.

"The one and only. Don't tell me you keep dreaming about me, Davis," Lawson said with a smirk.

Charlie just stared at the man.

Was he real? Or was he just part of another nightmare?

He looked around carefully, suddenly aware that his head seemed to be filled with crushed glass stabbing his brain. His eyes watered a bit and he squinted. He was in a hospital room, that much he could tell. If not for the pasty decor, then for the smell of disinfectant and the noise coming from the hallway.

He let out a moan and closed his eyes. The light streaming from the window was just too much to handle. It made the headache worse and the fact the walls kept waving a bit didn't help. Charlie was suddenly very glad for Lawson's hand on his shoulder, grounding him to the bed.

"What happened?" he asked softly, wishing for a glass of water but afraid that if he moved the bed would throw him out and he would land on the floor. Or worse yet... he might actually get sick in front of Lawson.

"If I tell you, will you remember?" Lawson asked somehow cryptically.

Charlie risked opening one eye to peek at the man.

"Huh?"

Lawson shrugged.

"Lucien said he spent most of the night answering the same questions. I should warn you, I don't have that kind of patience."

Charlie frowned. What the hell was Lawson talking about? If he knew the answer, he wouldn't ask, right? Also where was Blake? Most of the night?

Charlie wasn't sure what happened. The last thing he remembered was the car and Lawson pushing him out of the way...

"Are you okay Boss?" he asked, suddenly worried.

It was Lawson's turn to look confused.

"Me? What on earth are you prattling on about?"

"The car... you... the garages?" Charlie babbled, feeling more and more confused. Something wasn't right with that. "Your leg?" he added, as if that might clear it all up.

Lawson's leg got screwed up after all, didn't it? But no... that was before. He was back on the force now...

Damn. Charlie's head hurt.

He raised a hand to try and rub the pain away.

That just made things worse. Charlie hissed and looked down at himself, for the first time taking proper note of the state he was in.

"Boss?" he asked, his voice uncertain and scared.

Lawson for his part sighed and looked around, as if about to flag down a nurse. But none was in sight.

"Bloody hospital," he muttered under his breath, then turned back to Charlie with a resigned look. He gave his left shoulder what was supposedly meant to be a pat of reassurance. It just freaked Charlie out more.

"It's alright, no need to work yourself up," Lawson said finally. "Here... water?" he asked and seemed relieved when Charlie gave a small nod.

Getting to drink the water was a more awkward affair than Charlie wanted to admit. They both quickly realized that lying down wasn't extra productive to drinking. Well, getting into a semi sitting position didn't make matters any better. Charlie's right arm was in a sling and the rest of his body had stiffened up considerably.

After a moment of pause, several sips of the cool water, Charlie leaned his head back on the pillow and let out a sigh.

"What happened?" he repeated wearily, hoping to get a straight answer out of Lawson. The alternative was to ask a nurse, but he wasn't sure he could stay awake long enough to wait for one to appear.

"You don't remember anything?"

Charlie stopped himself from shaking his head in last moment. It was still spinning from the change of position and he didn't want to risk the reappearance of the water.

"No," he said, letting some of his irritation seep to his voice.

Lawson sighed and settled himself on the chair he pulled closer to the bed.

"I don't know if I'm supposed to tell you anything but hell... you either will remember and stop asking the same thing or forget I was even here."

Charlie scowled. He really hoped his memory wouldn't be affected in such a way. If it was, he wouldn't be able to keep his job. He pushed back the flash of panic at that. Lawson wasn't a doctor. He needed Blake. The man would tell him what was going on surely.

But Blake wasn't there... nor was Jean. Only Lawson... in his uniform. Charlie tried to catch sight of some clock to figure out what time it was. His watch was no longer on his hand and not knowing what time or day it was just made this whole situation all the more absurd.

"What time it is? And where is Blake?" he asked, hoping his voice didn't sound too plaintive.

Lawson glanced at his own watch.

"Half past nine... in the morning," he added as an explanation. "It's Wednesday, actually. You were brought in yesterday, shortly after noon."

Charlie blinked.

He was out of it for almost a day?

"What? I slept all day?"

Lawson shrugged.

"Nah. You were up more than a few times, but never really... there," he added with a grimace, then gave Charlie an assessing look. "Definitely haven't been able to hold a conversation before."

He seemed quite happy about the fact that has changed. Charlie for his part just tried to remember something... anything.

He kept coming back to a car... a ball... and Blake patting his hand wearily, repeating 'You're alright, Charlie. Go back to sleep,' in a darkened room. The more he thought about it, the more bits and pieces kept popping up in his mind. He thought he smelled Jean's perfume, felt her hand brush over his forehead soothingly. And then there was pain and being sick as a dog and... Charlie didn't really want to remember anymore.

He felt his cheeks flush at the thought of having Blake or Jean in the room while he got sick or repeating the same question over and over. Bloody hell. No wonder they weren't there anymore.

"The Doc went home?" he asked, hoping that was the case and the man would get some rest from him.

"Actually, he went to the bus station, to pick up your mother."

"You called mum?!" Charlie asked, then cringed at the loudness of his own voice. Loud sounds seemed to be just as bad as light. He ought to remember that. "Am I dying?" he asked, only in half jest.

Lawson snorted.

"You really think they would have left you just in my company, if that was the case?"

Charlie's eyes automatically swept the room. Nope, no one else was there.

Lawson was right though. If he was dying... he was pretty sure he would have a different company. Well, he hoped so. No offence to his boss, but he would definitely prefer a friendlier mug as his last sight.

"You didn't have to call mum then," he muttered, the thought of his mother worrying and making such a haste trip making his stomach churn. Or perhaps it was the water.

Lawson just shrugged.

"I'm not risking the ire of an angry mother. I just told her the facts, she insisted on coming. Jean helped arrange the rest."

Charlie sighed, then yawned. Damn, but he was tired. If Lawson didn't speed this up, he would fall asleep before finding out what even landed him there... or how bad his injuries were.

Lawson must've noticed at least. He shot another look at his watch, as if trying to move the time along. Obviously it wasn't going to his liking.

"You want me to tell you what happened or would you prefer to take a nap?" he asked pointedly.

Charlie shot him a glare. He felt that he was getting better at those lately.

"Talk."

"Aren't you a cranky one," Lawson snorted but leaned back in the chair. "Yesterday... Blake stopped by with Mrs. Nielson's autopsy report. It indicated she died of severe food poisoning... the blow to the head was caused by her falling down the stairs apparently. So I sent you and Blake to go check out her house once more, this time to look through the pantry. Does it ring any bells?"

It did.

Charlie remembered Mrs. Nielson's case. He remembered Blake stopping by and them leaving the station. Mostly, he remembered the fact he wished Blake had waited an hour or two before coming in with the report. It was his lunch time when the man arrived and gave them a rather unsavory description of food poisoning symptoms and the autopsy report. Charlie had regretted bringing a chicken mayo sandwich to work.

"We parked in front of her house..." Charlie spoke, brow furrowed. He tried to remember what happened next that laid him in a hospital bed, but the last clear thing in his mind was Blake regaling him with a tale from his army days, where a whole platoon ate some badly cooked meat. The rest was lost in a fog.

Lawson was watching him expectantly. Charlie tried to shrug, but it pulled on his bad shoulder. And hell, he would like to know what was wrong with that, but first he needed for Lawson to keep talking.

"I can't remember anything else," he admitted.

Lawson nodded.

"Alright then. According to Lucien, you were both heading towards the house, when you heard someone call out. A boy had run out into the street, chasing a-"

"Ball," Charlie added automatically.

"Yes," Lawson raised a brow. "Is it coming back?"

Charlie gave a small shake of his head.

"No. I just... that's what I dreamed off. A kid and a ball. But it's all mixed up with what happened at the garages and-" Charlie cut off abruptly, shooting a sheepish look at Lawson. "Did the boy get hit?"

Lawson shook his head, taking pity on him.

"No. You managed to grab him up and put him on the sidewalk before the car reached him. The car stopped a few meters later. According to Lucien, you just turned to check on the driver, when a different car came from behind the corner. It tried to change lanes to pass the first car, but you were in the way. It hit you and you went flying in the air. Blake said you were lucky to hit the grass instead of the pavement."

Charlie cringed. He didn't even want to imagine how it must've looked. All the bruises and pains of his body were enough to tell him it mustn't have been pretty. And he didn't really have to imagine anything anyway. He had seen it happen twice already... once to Mick and once to Lawson.

"I think... I heard the kid crying," Charlie spoke after a moment, as more and more images kept coming back to him. "Wailing. Did I hurt him?" he asked, eyes going wide. He remembered how Lawson's push broke his own ribs. It was a small price to pay in the scheme of things, but he didn't really want to be responsible for hurting a child in such a way.

"No, he was most likely just scared," Lawson assured him. "The boy doesn't have a scratch on him."

"Thank lord," Charlie muttered.

"Indeed. Though I'm starting to think it is quite dangerous letting you go anywhere near cars."

Charlie glanced at Lawson. Was the man making fun of him?

"This was hardly my fault," he felt the need to defend himself.

"You need to learn getting out of the way of cars though," Lawson mused. "Perhaps we should create some training exercises."

Now Charlie decidedly glared at the man.

"You weren't so fast on getting out of the way either," he reminded him, glancing at Lawson's leg. Then instantly felt guilty. Because it was his own ass Lawson was trying to save that time. "Uh... sorry Boss. I don't know why I said that..."

Lawson snorted.

"Let's blame it on the concussion."

Charlie agreed. Perhaps he could pretend this whole conversation didn't happen. He yawned again and closed his eyes for a second. Before he realized he still didn't know one important thing.

"Uh... Boss?"

Lawson was already standing and it looked like he was on his way out.

"When can I go back to work?" Charlie asked, a bit sheepishly. Based on how he felt he knew the answer wouldn't be a good one, but it would at least tell him something. Like... whether he even could return.

Lawson's own accident was still on the forefront of his mind and the man's ever-present limp was enough of a reminder that for a time it looked like Lawson was going to have to retire.

Charlie didn't think any of his bones were sticking out of his body at some point, but if he remembered one thing it was the excruciating pain in his right shoulder. The thing was now captured in some sort of a sling, hidden under a hospital shirt, so Charlie couldn't really see the damage or even move it really. But he knew that he needed both hands to be able to return to work as a cop.

Lawson once again looked towards the half open door, as if waiting for the nurse or Blake himself to appear.

"Boss?" Charlie asked, his heart doing a flip. Was Lawson hedging the answer because it was bad? Or he just didn't know?

"Ah, I'm not really sure about that," Lawson admitted and Charlie swallowed, his mouth once again feeling too dry.

"Relax. You still have all limbs attached, so that's good," he said quickly to assuage Charlie's fear. It didn't help.

"My arm?" Charlie asked pointedly.

Lawson shrugged.

"It was dislocated, but popped back when you landed. Blake said some nerve got pinched in the process, and there was some break. Medical mumbo jumbo," Lawson waved his hand. "He said you should be able to use the arm well enough, it might just take a bit of time until you reach full range. But hey... you're left handed. So nothing keeping you from filing reports or shooting bad guys, right?" Lawson added with a smirk.

Charlie wasn't sure if he wanted to hug the man or clock him. In his current situation he wasn't capable of either, so he just let out a somehow relieved snort and closed his eyes.

"Lots of paperwork in your future," Lawson said, patting his left hand. "Well, I'll be off. Blake should be here with your mother any minute and I'd rather be at work than have to witness all the coddling that will be going on."

Charlie made a sound that was close to a chuckle at that. He wouldn't admit to it however.

"I'm sure Blake can explain everything else you want to know." Lawson was about to turn and leave when Charlie opened his eyes to slits and called after him.

"Boss?"

"Hm?"

"Thanks."

At the confused look on Lawson's face, Charlie added: "For pushing me out of the way... back then."

He wasn't sure if he ever thanked the man before. Most likely yes, but it never hurt to do so again.

Lawson sighed.

"No thanks needed, Davis. As I see it... you just paid it forward. That's more than was ever expected in return."

Charlie blinked, feeling stupidly emotional about that. He looked Lawson in the eyes and nodded his thanks. The man let a half crooked smile touch his lips, then without another word he swiftly left the room.

He mustn't have gone far however. Charlie heard a familiar and welcome voice of his mum.

"Superintendent Lawson!"

There was no accusation in that voice, only warmth. And based on the muffled oomph and an indignant "Mrs. Davis!" Charlie caught through the half open door, Lawson just got one of his mother's patented hugs.

Charlie smiled.

It served the man right.

**THE END**


End file.
